


The Prisoner

by StrawberryRuffles



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal, Asphyxiation, Beating, Blood, Bottom Bard, Burning, Evil Thranduil, Forced Marriage, Forced Relationship, Gore, Hooker Bard, Injury, M/M, Oral Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Prostitution, Rape, Top Thranduil, Torture, non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-05-27 16:50:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6292336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrawberryRuffles/pseuds/StrawberryRuffles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard has a secret job that arouses Thranduil's interest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Invitation by the King

“Please, sit,” Thranduil urged, gesturing to the seat beside him. Reluctantly, Bard sat, without a clue as to why he had been summoned by the great King Thranduil. It was a mystery to him. Bard viewed himself merely as a bargeman. Of course, he was popular with the town he was in and provided his service where necessary, but that would never be enough to arouse the attention of an Elvish king. In front of him was a feast, only serving the best possible food and the oak table was finely carved with various Celtic-like patterns.

“Would you join me?” Thranduil said, picking up his beautifully engraved crystal goblet, already full with probably the finest wine in all of Middle Earth. The food and the wine did tempt Bard however he still chose to approach with caution.

“Why am I here?” Bard asked straight out, yet mild mannered. To seem less rude he accepted his gracious host’s offer and picked up the chalice meant for him.

“You know who I am, do you not?”

“Yes. Thranduil, son of Oropher, King of the Woodland Realm,” Bard replied in a monotonous tone. He was faced by a rich realm, where they could have feasts and have leftovers, yet in Laketown they had a diet limited to fish, and that’s if they were lucky: some starved.

“Then you must know what I am able to offer you.”

“Offer me... For what price? I am simply a bargeman. I doubt I have anything at all to give you in return.”

“Wrong. You have something I do desire and I offer you a trade. A trade that will benefit both you and I. I understand you have a responsibility to care for your family, as I.”

“Of course and I would do anything for them.”

“And I would expect nothing less. Some may imagine you would even go to further methods to provide. Ones that are considered to be immoral.” Bard looked up at Thranduil, not knowing what to say. He swallowed. Thranduil knew. However, through all of his own actions, he only had his family in mind. How he made money was his business and his alone, yet now he was here in the presence of an Elven King.

Bard limited his facial expressions and he continued in a solemn tone, “You never answered… Why am I here?”

“Myself, I am intrigued. I offer you a generous price.”

“Wait… So that is your desire? You want my services,” Bard said, not really knowing whether to take Thranduil seriously or not considering what he had just asked, but jokes among elves were rare.

“I do. Now name your price. Or how about I show all I am willing to offer?” he said, looking towards the guards who bought in bags full with gems and gold that were the most he had ever seen, however in his work and job, there was no room for riches. “Do you accept?”

Astounded, Bard nodded. With this money, he could provide for his family for months, maybe even years.

“Then follow me.” Thranduil led him to a room with a bed in it and around the edge were stone tables, which supported candlesticks that lit the room with a romantic feel. “You will receive your payment once I am fully satisfied. Now clothes. Slowly.”

With some hesitation, Bard unbuttoned his shirt and removed it to expose his abdomen, and then his trousers came off. Thranduil watched with keen eyes, resisting the temptation to leap out and touch him.

“Now mine,” he said. Bard wasn’t exactly sure on how to undo Elvish robes, but he eventually managed to. Luckily, Thranduil did say slowly. With care, Thranduil also gracefully took his crown off and left it on a stone pillar.

“Kiss me,” Thranduil said, pulling Bard in by his hair. As soon as Bard kissed back, Thranduil felt a shiver of excitement. Bard pushed his tongue inside of Thranduil’s mouth. With his right hand, the Elven King hit him across his face. “I did not tell you to do that. I desire passion, not immorality.” Thranduil pushed him onto the bed, quite roughly (slightly contradicting himself). Carefully, he placed himself on top of Bard and resumed the kiss, and then urged him to turn over.

Before the intimacy, Thranduil explored with his hands all over Bard’s body, until there was not a place untouched. Bard felt vulnerable, especially on his front, and didn’t know whether the price was worth it now. He would also have to explain the bruise on his face and also the bruises Thranduil was now imprinting on his wrists. However, he would do this in order to feed Bain, Sigrid and Tilda. He would die before letting them starve.

To start with, Thranduil was gentle and almost loving. He brushed his messy, unkempt hair to the side to expose his neck to kiss. Thranduil began to pick up the pace and put more power into his thrusts, so he was as deep as he could go. He tightened his grip on his wrists. Bard couldn’t help but squirm underneath him, not that he could move much.

“Lie still,” Thranduil ordered, hitting him. “Remain still.”

“Wait,” Bard muffled through the pillow.

“Quiet!” he shouted and began to go harder, so that it was more than discomfort. Bard groaned from the pain. “I said quiet.” Thranduil started to hit him even more, leaving his back covered with cuts and bruises. Bard continued to struggle and tried to make him stop, so Thranduil took one of the candles and poured hot wax onto him and also began to hit him harder. Tears built up in the corner of his eyes.

“Please,” he begged.

“Men truly are pathetic... If you wish me not to continue, you will have to stop me yourself. But I doubt you will succeed.”

Through the punching, kicking and even biting, Thranduil finally came. While Bard was frozen in pain and shock, Thranduil clothed himself and left to attend to other matters, but made sure the door was locked securely behind him.


	2. Locked Away

Days passed before Thranduil made an appearance again. Through a small opening in the door, food and water was shoved in. Every meal that he received was considered a delicacy in Laketown – compared to the fish anyway. Bard had recovered slightly, with the help of the Elvish medicine that was also sent into his room; it soothed the burns and helped his swellings go down. The physical pain was bearable, but the thought of his family was not. Without him, they wouldn’t be able to survive – perhaps one of his friends would help them and come looking for him. Not that they would find him, after all he was in the last place they would suspect. The people in Laketown had loyalty and often helped each other and he was depending on them right now. His safety was never his primary concern: only the safety of his children.

Bard tried to think of a plan, a plan to get out of here. And take what he was owed being the gold Thranduil never gave him. His mind did wander into the possibility of revenge, but it seemed irrelevant for now. All he wanted was to get out of Elven territory and back to his home, putting these bad memories behind him. Though the chance of escape still seemed like a slim prospect as running right now would be excruciating and undo the medicine’s work.

There was no other escape route other than the single door where his food as passed in. The Elves were known for having impenetrable security. Most likely there would be guards the other side. There was nothing to defend himself with either. Unless he broke the bed, though it was of Elvish origin and their craftsmanship was to be admired: breaking it would be too difficult.

After days of being in this one room he knew that there would be only one way in and out of here and after that he would have to somehow navigate his way through endless halls and then find another way out other than the bridge from the main entrance that would be watched at all times. 

A clattering came from the door: it was being unlocked. Bard suddenly jumped behind the door, into a position where he had an advantage, even though he was still not quite well enough to stand. He had taken a blanket off the bed. He would be good enough to wrap around someone’s neck if he had to. And he would do. For his family.  
The Elven King entered with another two elf guards behind him. Before he had a chance to make an attempt of Thranduil’s life, the guards caught him and held him back as well as making him kneel in front of their king.

“'Quel undome.”

To Bard’s little knowledge of Elvish, he knew it meant good evening. At least he finally knew what time it was, though he still didn’t know how many days he had been stuck in this room, without the use of the daylight.

Bard lashed out at the guards, fighting through the pain of his sharp movements. The one on his left he was able to disable with a kick to the shin followed by a punch the face. The other tried to hold Bard down by getting him to the ground. However, men had no honour in fighting. Bard moved from underneath him and somehow managed to secure his hands around the elf’s neck. Thranduil responded by holding a sharp, finely crafted blade to his throat. Bard backed down, knowing that this fight he wouldn’t win.

“You show spirit, bowman. Lle naa curucuar.”

“At least speak in words I understand.”

“I was simply saying that you are a bowman of great skill. You look well. Certainly better than from when I last saw you.”

Bard looked up, angrily. “You are disgusting... Now let me go. My family need me.”

“Do not worry. Your family are being well provided for. I give you my word.”

“Because your word means something to me?”

Thranduil hit Bard across the face and tried to keep in a calm tone, “Do not treat me with such blatant disrespect. I am a king.”

“Yes, you’re a king, but not _my_ king… You could choose anybody, yet you choose this?”

“You should be honoured.”

“Honoured? You really know nothing of men, do you?” Bard said quietly, not believing what he was hearing.

“More than enough. I have spent an eternity to know that men are sons of snakes. No more. This conversation is over. Now there is a meal awaiting you. You can either join me or stay here and look at these same walls for hours more.” Bard stared hard at Thranduil. He wasn’t done speaking, yet he didn’t have much choice than to be quiet and he would do anything to escape this room and perhaps even Mirkwood itself if he found the right opportunity.

“I will come.”


	3. Revelations

Through the maze of corridors, Thranduil led Bard to a room. Obviously, Bard could have chosen to run now, yet two elves had been pinned strategically behind them and he didn’t want to risk any moves that may hold him here longer than necessary. He didn’t even know if Thranduil was going to let him leave. He was promised that his family were provided for… it meant that Thranduil knew who he was, where he lived and who his family were if he wasn’t lying about that. In Bard’s eyes, it meant that he had leverage. He knew the Elven King could get to his family at any time. He needed to flee before he had the chance to lay one finger on them.

Thranduil took Bard to a room lit by a huge chandelier and the table full of all the fruit in the realm. Bain, Sigrid and Tilda were there. Sat at one end of the table, shovelling as much of the luxurious food into their mouths as possible, until they saw Bard. All three rushed over to him.

“Da!” Tilda shouted.

Bard wrapped his arms around them and brought them closer to kiss each of them softly on the head. Never had he been happier to see them. And yet all he could do was worry.

“What is going on, Da?” Sigrid asked.

“It’s alright. We are guests to Thranduil, the Elven King,” Bard said, trying not to say his name with hatred and disgust. Thranduil smiled and nodded his head slightly towards them. Not with a joyous smile, nor an evil one. One that made Bard visibly shiver.

“You have been gone for days,” Bain said; his voice filled with worry.

“I am fine as long as you are. Now sit down, eat and respect our host,” Bard said to his family, more for their protection, in case Thranduil acted out against them. He hated him. It was one thing to bring him to the Woodland Realm, but his family… 

Bain, Sigrid and Tilda sat there, awkwardly, but followed their father’s instructions and began to eat the food prepared just for them. Sigrid, the most intelligent of them, knew what whatever this was, it wasn’t good. She politely ate, but her mind raced, in fear for her father’s life, as she trusted no one less than the Elven King. Bain shared her fears. Yet, Tilda was more than happy as in front of her was a banquet worthy of a queen, which was more than enough for her as hunger was not rare in Laketown.

“We have something to share with you,” Thranduil said to the kids. Bard looked at him out of the corner of his eye, reading his face. However, elves didn’t tend to wear their emotions like humans. Thranduil took Bard’s hand with his own and smiled. “We are romantically engaged and shall be having a wedding, as it is tradition in your culture when two are in love.” Bard stared with wide eyes at Thranduil’s lie. Yet, he knew he couldn’t say otherwise. He would have to play along, until an opportunity revealed itself, which guaranteed his family’s safety. He would never risk their lives for his own.

“Da? Is this true?” Bain asked to verify. Even though a king had told him this, the only word he could blindly follow was his father’s.

“It is true. I’m sorry. I would’ve told you, but it wasn’t safe to with the spies that watch our house because the Master always keeps a close eye on us. I couldn’t risk someone overhearing, just in case. And, I did not know whether it was serious or not before that point. We met while I was working when I was trading with the woodland elves.”

Even after being told by their father himself, they still couldn’t trust this arrangement, Sigrid especially. Why would the Elven King fall for a mortal? An elf being with a man was almost unheard of.

“You are welcome to move into my realm. Each of you will be provided with a separate room,” Thranduil said.

“A whole room to myself? I don’t have to share?” Tilda asked, with excitement bubbling. In Laketown, they had not much privacy. There house was small and mainly open. They all had to share everything – to survive. Bain and Sigrid didn’t have much to say. Neither of them warmed to Thranduil and suspected something, yet had no suspicions out what it could be.

“Of course. And you will all eat like this daily. I only ask of you to welcome me and my kin to your family.”

Sigrid smiled, going along with it because her father had a certain warning look in his eyes that she knew in an instance. “If my Da loves you then you can expect that same love from all of us.”

“Diola lle. It means thank you. And I thank you with all of my heart.”

“How long have you been with my Da?” Sigrid asked, careful not to ask too many question into too much detail. She didn’t want to seem distrusting.

“Months. Even though it is a mere blink in the life of an elf, it has been more of a lifetime to me than an eternity alone. I hope to be part of your family for the rest of your lives. Perhaps as a father figure, if you would allow me.”

Bard gave a slight nod towards Sigrid. His action urged her to reply with a response that would appease the Elven king: “Ada. I believe that is the Elven word for father?”

With another smile, Thranduil said, “Yes. I express my full gratitude.” Thranduil placed his hand on his chest and gave a bow. “I am sure Legolas will be pleased to once again have a family. Now, your journey here must have been tiresome. It would be an ideal opportunity for you to lay eyes upon your room. Many desire the rooms within these halls. I will have my kin to guide you. Rest well.”

Bard gave them all a final hug as he did not know when he would see them again. If Thranduil hurt either of them, he swore he would suffer greatly.

“Be good,” Bard said, “Bain. Take care of your sisters.”

“I will. We will see you again soon, won’t we?”

“Tomorrow,” Bard said, hoping that Thranduil would allow this and he would if he really wanted to be part of their family.

“We won’t have to learn Elvish, we will, Da?” Tilda asked.

“We’ll see. Don’t worry about it for now. Go and get some rest,” Bard said, guiding Tilda along to the Elves who would escort them to their rooms. It seemed like mutual respect, but Sigrid felt that it was the guards were more there as a precaution to prevent them from leaving.

As soon as his family was out of sight, Bard turned to Thranduil and shouted, “How dare you involve my family in this. You have no right!”

“On the contrary. They are my family as are you.”

“Why? Why are you doing it? To what point?” Bard questioned. This was the idea that played on his mind for the past few days.

“The serpent, Smaug. Who hoarded the Lonely Mountains treasures. You slayed him, did you not?”

“Yes. What of it? That doesn’t explain why I am here.”

“You may recall my earlier comment on how men are pathetic in the eyes of an elf. Well, you are the first to change my mind,” Thranduil said, moving one of his hands gently across Bard’s face. “And you are here because I choose so. I do not need to explain my actions to you.”

“If we are really getting married, then I think you do… At least value me as a person. I deserve to know why I am imprisoned here and being forced into a marriage with an Elven king. So tell me.”

“Hold your tongue. You may express your opinion. But on this matter you will not.”

“I have one final question.” Thranduil gave a small nod after a long hesitation. “Why marriage? Elves don’t get married. Why are you?”

“It will be nice to have a family once again. I would rather your children be brought up in a stable relationship. They will grow to love me in time.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. They can be really stubborn at times. All of them. It’s not too late to back out of this. I won’t tell anybody, not that it would matter if I did. You could find someone who loves you as much as you love them.”

“And yet I still want you, dragon slayer. You are perfect. So perfect.” Thranduil pulled Bard closer to him and ran his fingers gracefully through his seldom washed hair. For a few seconds, Thranduil stared into his eyes before kissing him on the lips. Bard didn’t resist. He knew that it would only make it all worse if he did. He knew what Thranduil was capable of. The feeling on the bruises still remained on his skin, though they weren’t visible any more due to the miracle of Elven medicine.

“When will the wedding be?”

“You said one final question… Tomorrow. We shall wed tomorrow. With your family and mine as witness. Legolas will return tonight.”

“Tomorrow? So soon? Don’t you think we should wait?” Bard said. It was a poor attempt to escape it, yet he understood it was going to be tomorrow. The king had said so. A honourable elf wouldn’t go back on his word.

“Wait? For what purpose?”

He couldn't think of a good enough reason to put the wedding off, but he knew he desperately needed time. “To get to know each other more and invite my friends. They would want to know of our marriage.”

“Your friends from Laketown? Who you will never see again when you have moved into the Woodland Realm? Some you have lain with? I think not. This is the end of our conversation. You will prepare for our wedding. I will have someone bring you new clothes and you will bathe. Now, go and do as I command. Melamin.”

Without speaking, Bard followed the elves that Thranduil had summoned to escort him back to his room, or rather (more accurately) prison. This was a fight that he wouldn’t win. For his children, he would go through with this as long as Thranduil didn’t harm them.


	4. Contemplation

The rest of the day went by slowly.

He got as much rest as he could, but his night was disturbed with the thought of the future and of their wedding and his children. Trying to sleep was futile. Instead, he tried to plan some kind of escape in his head; however he didn’t even know where the wedding was, so an escape attempt was pointless. His feared an unsuccessful escape attempt would mean his children would pay the penalty as well as him. Thranduil was not witless; he would see that he would do anything for his children, as any parent would.  
He followed as Thranduil had ordered, knowing he didn’t have much choice other than to do what he said, and requested to the guards stationed outside his door that he wished to bathe. It must have been the early hours of the morning, he thought, though there was no sure way to tell.

He cleaned himself up in the bath house, yet he was still followed by elves in case he tried something. One of them still had faint red marks around his neck from where he had strangled him. He made sure to watch his back as he expected he would hold a grudge against him. He wondered whether Thranduil would allow them to harm him, especially before their wedding. Perhaps they were just as scared of the Elven King as he was, or perhaps they were just as sadistic.

The bath water was steaming and had a sweet smell to it. It had been a long time since he had a bath. In Laketown, his house had a shower that spewed cold, salty water. His family avoided washing most weeks. For the first time, his hair wasn’t dirty with salt and whatever else polluted the air.

Bard tried to relax himself with the water to no avail – his thoughts to manic and unsettled for his body to rest. He went under the water to wash his hair and for a moment he lingered there, almost like he had a death wish and drowning seemed like a familiar way to go. After all, water was his element since he was born and raised in Laketown. One of the guards had stepped forward at the moment he came up for air and slowly moved back to his previous place.

After he dried off, he went back to his room and put on the clothes laid out on his bed. They were traditional Elvish robes, cream with embellished gold around the edges. Bard figured that the cream was chosen as it was a custom for weddings. An elf came in to help him fasten the robe properly since he had never worn anything so fancy and expensive. The robe probably was worth more than everything he had, including his entire house and boat.

“Thanks,” Bard said, not really knowing why he was thanking the elf for helping him prepare for one of the worst days of his life. However, it would never be the worst. The worst being when he lost his wife. Marrying him felt like a betrayal to her memory.

The elf nodded towards him and then she smiled. Her smile wasn’t like Thranduil’s, it was actually genuine. “Your beauty shines bright today,” the elf maiden said, “You must be very happy.”

“Overjoyed,” Bard said in a monotonous tone.

“Many would have happiness radiate from them when marrying a king… I have heard that you do not want to from the whispers of others... Is this true?”

“True or not, does it matter? I will be marrying him either way.”

“I have something that may lift you tone,” she smiled and left. A few moments later, she carried in a beautifully crafted crown – fit for a king – which was engraved with white gems. The crown would be more valuable than all of Laketown itself, no matter how much gold was buried in the Master’s vaults.

Bard was more fascinated with the crown, than pleased. He looked up at the elf. Maybe she would answer his questions. “What of my family? Do you know where they are?”

“I am afraid I do not. But you will see them at the wedding. It will not be long until you will rule a whole realm and I will be calling you king.”

“What?”

“You will gain a higher status when you are married to the Elven King. You too will rule this realm.”

“And yet I am less than I have ever been… What is your name?”

“Nellas. I need to leave: there is much to prepare. I will be serving at your wedding. I give you my best wishes. If you need anything else, ask the guards outside. Farewell,” she smiled and hurried along to whatever work needed doing.

And, once again, Bard was left alone, locked inside with nothing but his haunting thoughts.


	5. The Wedding

The day had arrived. His wedding day. After hours of anxious sitting, lying and pacing. However, he had been given a passage to read to pass the long hours: Elvish Vows. The words as they rolled off his tongue made him unwell. Memorizing them was the easy part; convincing the crowd was the hard part. The words on his tongue felt bitter and were filled with resentment. Delivering the lines with love was near impossible. His hatred towards Thranduil made sure of that. 

When Bard left through the double doors, he was greeted by white ribbons that hung from every ceiling; there was not a part that didn’t have decorations. Admittedly, it was beautiful. But, how could something so beautiful physically turn his stomach?

The aisle was ready for him. Thranduil was waiting at the top. Bard thought he had more time before he married him. 

_There was no time._

Before he knew it, he was walking slowly up the aisle against his own will. Yet his legs still carried him forwards.

Rows of seats filled the sides with Thranduil’s kin. It was clear that they had all dressed in their best clothes. Bard tried to not hate them, even though he really wanted to. He had to remember that they probably thought that this was genuine.

In the front row to his left, he saw Sigrid, Bain and Tilda. For the first time in their lives, they were scrubbed of all dirt and filth, and were wearing the most exquisite clothes. They were unharmed, like Thranduil promised. Bard thought for a second that maybe he could make the best of a bad situation for his children. To his right was presumably Legolas – Thranduil’s son. He didn’t know what to think about him. He looked like most elves: long blond hair, blue eyes and generally pretty.

Finally he reached the top. Bard felt nauseous, as though he was going to throw up right there and then. He swallowed, trying to keep brave. As long as he appeared brave all would go smoothly. He would marry Thranduil, his children would move in with him, and then when Thranduil dropped his guard, they would flee – perhaps to somewhere like Gondor. And if they were to steal some of Thranduil’s treasure, then it would all work out and give his children the chance of a better life.

Thranduil looked perfect. His white robes, his Elven crown and his appearance must have been striking to an outsider.

“Melamin,” Thranduil bowed, “Lle naa vanima.” Bard had no idea what he meant, but he flashed him a faint smile, for appearance.

A female elf as stood between them, like that of a human wedding, and she went through the Elvish rituals. Bard tried not to show any emotion, but love, though it was hard considering the irony of what she was saying.

Soon enough it was time for their vows. Bard cast his mind back to the Elvish vows that he needed to say for their wedding to be real. Though he had learnt it by heart, he still needed to think of it to get through this.

The words of the elf all sounded the same to Bard. All were lies. It seemed like it was lasting for an eternity. Thranduil kept eye contact throughout. His face showed happiness, but his eyes showed a cruelty, like his smile usually did. However this time, his smile was sweet, which was far worse. 

The female elf stopped her speech and looked towards Thranduil. The wait was finally over, he knew that the vows must come next and he doubted whether he could get through this.

Thranduil spoke first: “My heart tells me that I love you and we should wed. What does your heart say?” Savouring the moment, Thranduil slid the ring onto Bard’s wedding finger with leisure. It was getting harder and harder for Bard to keep up the act. It was like he belonged to Thranduil and he would have the ring permanently there to remind him.

“My heart is like your heart,” Bard said in Elvish, like Thranduil, as heartfelt as he could manage through his gritted teeth. He also gave his gold ring to Thranduil. “I promise to love you, with all my heart, in this life and the next, and never stray from the path on which we walk together.” He carried on with the vows he had memorised, though he knew his pronunciation must be awful. It got no easier as he continued; the vows took all the strength he had left.

“Melamin, this day I say that I will be with you forever. I will stand by your side always. I will give you my heart. I will stay with you in sunrise and sunset. I will look toward you for knowledge. I give myself to you because I love you,” Thranduil spoke in a soft tone and then they shared a _romantic_ kiss while the crowd applauded, along with Bard’s family because they knew it was best to.

It was official. They were bound. In love and in death. And since death was the undying lands, it felt as if he would never get away. Though Bard knew that this wouldn’t be the worst bit of the day, the consummation of their marriage would. If Thranduil had followed the laws of man, there would be a wedding night and he wouldn’t be able to get away before it. The thought made Bard pick up a chalice of wine and pour its sweet contents down his throat without a pause to breathe. 

The couple were sat in the middle of a long table at the top and to Bard’s side was his family who were making the most of the food, but Bard had to prize the wine out of Tilda’s hands now and again. Legolas and other high up elves were sat on Thranduil said.

Whenever Thranduil made conversation with him or invaded his personal space, another chalice of wine went. By the end of the evening, Bard could barely see straight, never mind stand straight.

“Da, maybe you should put the wine down,” Sigrid urged.

“Why? It’s my wedding, isn’t it?” Bard argued. Up to this point he had been silent. “I’ll drink if I want to.”

“Not now, Da.” Sigrid prised the golden goblet from his hand and took the wine away from the table. Thranduil looked puzzled for a moment. He had forgotten that men would get drunk faster than elves.

“Melamin?” Thranduil said in a low voice.

“What?” Bard replied, rather rudely.

“You are drunk.”

“Really? …I had no idea?” he slurred.

“Do not speak to me in that tone.” 

“I apologise, my Elven King,” Bard scoffed, his tone coming across as though he was mocking him which he knew, bar his drunken state, was unwise. At this point, he thought he didn’t have a lot to lose. The night was happening no matter what he did and he wanted to get as drunk as he could before it. He grabbed another drink off the table and downing it.

Thranduil pulled his chair out, took his goblet and pulled him up from his seat. “I will ensure your father sleeps the effects of the wine off.” He nodded at Sigrid and helped Bard walk out as he couldn’t walk in a straight line.

He took him to his bedroom. The party carried on when they had left. Mind, an Elvish party wasn’t wild and full of drinking like a dwarf’s or human’s, it was more like a formal get together with the hum of chatter in the background in the midst of the celebration.

“Bed,” Thranduil said, opening the door to his bedroom. Bard only just made out the shape of the bed, before collapsing onto it. Thranduil eagerly pulled at his clothes, yet still somehow was patient. Bard was barely conscious at this point. He stirred a little, but had no real control over himself.

Thranduil went in roughly, yet Bard didn’t feel it as much as last time as the alcohol numbed some of the pain. When Thranduil finally came, and Bard had blood trickling down his thighs, it was not over. He grabbed the rope and tied Bard up to secure him in place because he moved too much while he was drunk. The rope began to press into his skin and later bruises were bound to appear. Thranduil did not speak as he grabbed a long, blunt object that Bard didn’t see but felt as it was hit hard onto his skin and then rapidly inserted into him.

“Melamin,” Thranduil whispered when he then once again went inside Bard, but he positioned himself at another angle, causing more blood to pour rapidly down him, though most of his lower body was covered with blood already. “You are strong, courageous and will pass this test. The pain will only make your strength grow.”

Next, he forced Bard’s mouth open and put himself inside his mouth. His tongue felt undeniably good. Too incapacitated by the alcohol, he wasn’t able to fight back or even bite down against Thranduil’s grip. He barely had any understanding of what was happening.

Thranduil was surprised that he had stayed conscious for this long. Finally, Bard blacked out from both the pain and the alcohol and Thranduil continued to consummate their marriage with what was supposed to be an act of love, and yet it was filled with violence.


	6. Family Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter gets pretty dark. Please read tags.

When Bard awoke, Thranduil was still there, sitting up on the bed and lightly stroking his hair and now and again untangling it. He had the most awful hangover, but it was overpowered by the cuts and bruises that probably covered most of his body. Though, Thranduil or some other elf must have applied some medicine as something cool soothed them slightly.

Bard didn’t want to open his eyes and show that he was awake; he wanted to never get up again. Except he did flicker his eyes open with restraint because he knew that Thranduil was the one who stood between him and his children.

“A'maelamin, you are awake. You have been out for a while.”

“No thanks to you,” Bard said flatly.

“And to yourself. Wine was not a wise choice.”

“I don’t regret it if you expect me to. All in all, I think it was a pretty reasonable decision saying that I had just been forced into a marriage I do not want and it is to a psychopath.”

“You have a sharp tongue, mela en' coiamin.”

“Yet one that is truthful.”

“You should remember your place, dragon slayer. I do not believe you are in a position to argue. Hush,” Thranduil said, putting his fingers to Bard’s mouth before he said anything else. He then rubbed some more medicine onto his wounds and after he kissed a trail up his neck and then planted his own lips on his. He then lay beside Bard and guided his head onto his chest, careful not to cause him too much pain and distress. He carried on with pulling his fingers through Bard’s hair that had gone back to its natural unkempt and dishevelled state.

Thranduil grabbed a wooden cup of water off the side and brought it to Bard’s mouth and urged him to drink. He did so, begrudgingly as he didn’t want anything off Thranduil, but he was so dehydrated from the copious amount of alcohol and the blood loss. After, Thranduil fed him some berries and then went back to stroking his hair.

“There is more to you than you see on a first glance,” Thranduil finally said after a long silence.

“Is that a compliment?”

“Yes, of course... I did not want to hurt you and did so with a heavy heart. I only desired to see what you are made of and how you respond to violence. I was impressed to say the least. You are worthy of my love and time. I hope that you will grow to like it here. And maybe even grow to like myself.”

“You expect me to like you after you rip away everything I love and imprison me and my children in this godforsaken place. You may have the richest food and the highest quality of craftsmanship in all of the land, but make no mistake in thinking I would choose this life. I would pick Laketown any day.”

“Even if your family starve and are unhappy?”

“They will be no happier here.”

“I disagree. I can offer them anything they wish. And offer you the same.”

“How about freedom? And also a way back to Laketown for me and my family? Maybe some gems as well to take home,” Bard hissed, barely controlling his anger.  
“You are certainly tiresome, Bargeman. We have had this conversation before. You are here and here to stay whether you accept it or not. We are bound by marriage. What is mine is yours and what is yours is mine.”

“Trust me when I say I don’t have much.”

“You have more than you think you have. You have courage. Bravery. Honour. Beauty. And skill. You have a family, which is now my family. You have a bow, which is now my bow to wield. And you have a body, which is now also mine to do with as I please.”

“I am no more than a slave to you, am I?”

“You are wrong. My love for you is real. The vows I spoke were true. A king does not lie. He honours his word. And when I say I love you, I mean it with all of my heart.”  
“You say you love me and you treat me like this? You’ve got a funny way of loving people.”

“Yes, maybe I do. My son would agree. But the way I love only makes you stronger. One day you will understand. Like my son.”

Bard froze for a minute and looked straight into Thranduil’s dark, yet bright blue, eyes. “Wait… you beat your son?”

“That and more. And he now obeys my every command for the most part. He is a strong warrior and never fails to impress me. I am proud of him.”

“You’re sick,” Bard whispered. “That’s disgusting. How could you even think about doing that, never mind going through with it? I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt my son. You’re a monster.”

“I may be tough, but I am a good father. Legolas knows that, even when I am in a foul mood. He would not have grown into who he is without a little persuasion.”  
Bard could barely look at Thranduil. And Thranduil could not take his eyes off him. For a strange reason, he felt himself being turned on by Bard’s reaction.

“You’re sick…” Bard repeated.

“Even so, my son still loves me and you will too given time.”

“You don’t… you don’t do to him what you did to me? …Rape,” Bard said, not looking at Thranduil at all. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to know the answer. He didn’t.  
“Not now. It is completely voluntary now. Or, rather, he knows better than to oppose me. Maybe I will ask him to join us another time. For now, you will rest. Your injuries need time to heal. Sleep.”

Thranduil left, not saying another word. And Bard just lay there in stunned silence. He didn’t think it was possible, but he hated Thranduil even more. Sleep did not come easily. The thought of Thranduil’s sick games turned his stomach. His greatest fear was still for his children. Never would he allow Thranduil near them after knowing what he was truly capable of.


	7. New Siblings

“I know you’re there… Why do you linger in the shadows?” Thranduil said, turning around to see Legolas emerging from the dark hallway.

“The bowman? You married him. Why? What purpose does it have?” Legolas questioned quickly, as it had been playing on his mind since he had returned. His father had no interest in anyone since his mother, yet the wedding was so sudden and unexpected.

“There is more to him than you will see.”

“It was he who slayed the dragon, Smaug. Wasn’t it?”

“Yes. He is the dragon slayer.”

“You still do not answer my question: why marry him? You could have simply employed him as your guard, if you wanted his strength.”

“I thought it was time we have a family again. You should meet your new brother and sisters. I am sure you will be pleased. Perhaps you could teach them much about our culture.”  
“But why a man? Not another elf? And why so soon?”

“Legolas. What have I told you about asking so many questions? Go and meet your new siblings: Tilda, Sigrid and Bain. Tilda is the youngest. And then Bain and then Sigrid. I expect you to get along with them. Otherwise there will be a problem. Now go.”

Obediently, Legolas followed his father’s orders, knowing the consequences if he didn’t, and went to see Bard’s children. Sigrid was sat on the bed running a brush through Tilda’s hair and Bain was practising some moves with a sword he had ‘borrowed’ from a guard.

“You are very talented with a sword,” Legolas said to Bain. He didn’t even have to lie as Bard must have taught him how to fight and defend himself. “I am Legolas, son of Thranduil.” He didn’t really know what else to say. Thranduil wanted him to befriend them, yet he had no idea how to talk to children.

When Bain didn’t answer and just carried on swinging his sword, Sigrid said, “This is Bain, Tilda, and I’m Sigrid.”

“Where’s our Da?” Tilda asked as it was all she could think about. Never had Bard been away so much from his family. Of course, he left sometimes to do his job, but he was never gone more than half a day.

“With the Elven king, I presume.”

“When will we see him again?” Tilda further questioned.

“Tonight it is Mereth Nuin Giliath; The Feast of Starlight. All light is sacred to the Eldar, but the Wood Elves love best the light of the stars. If you come, you may see your father there.”

“Do elves have a celebration going on every night?” Sigrid asked with a hint of frustration, but remained polite. To her, celebrations were rare as feasts meant spare food, which was something they didn’t have in Laketown. Yet in this realm, they would have enough leftovers to feed the starving and more.

Legolas smiled slightly. “Every day is a day of celebration for elves; our love of music, poetry, and song imbues their lives with a festive air. We have Tath`Neleutha, Hrive`Isia, Solitara, Re en’ Cormea, Senek`Tama, Tuile`Eostra, Wyndervere, Sar`Maren, Lanta`Eostra, Jaliss`Ishtel and Kalenis. I am sure you will get to celebrate all of them with my kin. They are all truly beautiful.”

“I am sure they are,” Sigrid replied, “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“We are happy to have you, thelig.”

“Thelig?”

“It means sister for you now are, since your father is married to mine. That is if you want me to call you that.”

“I guess, brother,” Sigrid said with a small nod.

“As I said before, you are all welcome here. And you are as much as part of our kin as I. I hope we can be friends.”

Sigrid agreed thinking that it would put them in a position if they were nice to the King’s son. At least it would mean that they had someone to turn to if they ever needed help. Legolas seemed nice, especially compared to his father. Sigrid continued to drag a brush through Tilda’s hair, however she was the heavy handed and rough.

Tilda looked up at Legolas, expectantly and asked, “Can you give me a plait? I would ask Sigrid but my hair always ends up tangled and knotted when she does it.”

“Or maybe someone moves too much when they are plaiting it,” Sigrid snapped.

“Only because it hurts as you pull half of my hair out.” Tilda turned to Legolas and whispered, “She isn’t very good at plaits.”

Legolas sat down on the bed, heeding his father’s advice, and took the brush that Sigrid had left on the bed. He brushed through it softly and then begun a plait at the side of her head. Eventually he had done two plaits going back from the front of her hair and a side plait on each side. At the back, he had tied them together with a small silver coloured band. While this went on, Bain still continued to practise with the sword, until one of the Elven guards had to get it back off him with a struggle.

“Finished,” Legolas said and picked up a mirror to show her the back.

“I love it!” Tilda exclaimed. “See, I told you that you were just awful at it, Sigrid.”

“It looks great. Now you’re really fitting in with the locals,” Sigrid smirked.

“Now I get to do yours,” Tilda said to Legolas in a serious tone. Legolas widened his eyes at the suggestion.

“I do not think-“

“She won’t stop asking. You may as well get it over with,” Bain said, getting into the conversation as there was nothing better to do. “Anyway, I am sure as a kind brother you would let her.”

Tilda nodded and grabbed the brush out of Legolas’ hand and began to drag it through his hair. “Are you sure you know what you are doing?” he asked, fearing the worst.  
“Yes. I taught myself.”

“I would get out now before she starts to hurt you.”

“Sigrid! I’ve practised. I’m good at it now.”

“It took me hours to get the knots out last time you were let loose on Sigrid’s hair,” Bain said flatly.

“They’re exaggerating,” Tilda said to Legolas. Sigrid came up behind her and grabbed the brush from her hands and gave it back to Legolas.

“Believe me when I say you are best left to doing your own hair,” she said while Tilda objected and tried to get the brush back, except Sigrid just laughed and pushed her back onto the bed playfully. “Stop! Admit it, you have no idea.”

“It couldn’t have been that hard!”

“You have a strange relationship with your siblings or are all of your kin like this?” Legolas asked, actually not knowing, especially because he was an only child. Also, his father would have never stood for their uncaring attitude to anything important other than their father.

“Well, maybe we just know how to have more fun than elves, without all the celebrations,” Sigrid laughed, actually finding Legolas’ knowledge of men to be kind of sweet.  
“And I am sure that you will bring more excitement to our celebrations. Now I have much to do. I will see you at Mereth Nuin Giliath, I hope.”

“Alright. We’ll go as long as our Da is there.”

And on that note Legolas left, feeling like they were all less of strangers than they were to begin with. And he was glad that he wouldn’t upset his father because if he was in a bad mood, it would be bad for everybody, not only himself. Legolas had a feeling there was something off about the wedding, but even if there was, he couldn’t do anything against it. He had an idea of what was exactly off about it.


	8. Golden Robes

“Dress,” Thranduil commanded, holding out an outfit in front of him. It was a gold tunic, paired with a cloak, without a hood, that attached with ties across the chest. Along with it was a circlet-like headband that looked slightly like laurel leaves. He hadn’t even realised that he was fully dressed, not naked after what Thranduil did. Maybe he had put his clothes back on why he was out, but god knows why. Perhaps he preferred innocence or something. He could hardly read the thought path of a psychopath.

“What for?” Bard said sincerely. He didn’t see why it was worth the effort, but if he got to see his children then it would be.

“Mereth Nuin Giliath. An Elvish celebration. You need to look the part.”

Bard waited and looked at Thranduil. Of course he wasn’t going to leave and give him privacy. With hesitation, Bard took his clothes off gingerly. He groaned out in pain as he removed his shirt; it was clear why when the bruises showed on his back. Thranduil still gave eager looks, though he was injured and he guessed he looked awful. However, to Thranduil, he looked anything but.

“Let me help,” Thranduil said as he struggled removing his shirt for a minute.

“I’m fine,” Bard replied flatly, not that Thranduil took it as an answer. He knew he needed the help mind, except he didn’t want anything off him and was slightly disgusted at the fact he could feel his hands lifting his shirt slowly off. And then he guided Bard onto the bed, undid his trousers and pulled them off. Thranduil pushed Bard down, so he was lying, rather than sitting. He picked up some medicine from the side shelf, such as painkiller and some gel to apply to the wounds.

“This will sting. Be brave, dragon slayer.” Coating his hands in layers of the cream, he rubbed the open wounds, while Bard tried not to yell in pain as it felt like his flesh was being purified with fire. “We are done.” Before Bard said anything back, Thranduil stopped him with a long, loving kiss, though he was more than aware that Thranduil was a monster who was only playing with his emotions. Not that he would give him the courtesy. “When the day is done, we shall celebrate our wedding again with our honeymoon. I believe it is called that. And we will get to know one another better. Physically. Mentally. Sexually.”

“I’m guessing this is another thing I have no choice in.”

“Drink,” he said, ignoring Bard’s comment. He did as he was told. He trusted that it wouldn’t be poison as he would wanted him to be well for the celebration and poison was more man’s work than an elf. Elves never were cowards, especially Mirkwood Elves who would jump at the chance to be reckless. “Before you change for the celebration tonight, we have time to teach you some Elvish. Not all elves speak the language of men. I expect you to be polite and civil. Now, I will teach you simple phrases.”

Thranduil went through a list of phrases that were often used to be well mannered at parties. Bard learnt quickly, mainly because Thranduil would subject him to punishment if he got it wrong. By the end, he had even more marks on his body than he thought possible.

“You are very impressive. This is why I chose you. There is nothing you are incapable of. You are bodacious, affectionate, perceptive and, above all, intelligent.”

“How kind of you, my King,” he mused, though his sarcasm showed a little too much.

“Though clearly I am wrong. You are not capable of self-discipline or giving me the respect I deserve.” Thranduil was not used to be insulted to his face by anyone. No one would dare. Yet Bard did and for some reason Thranduil liked it.

“That’s probably true.” Thranduil looked at him in a smug way that unsettled him, though he didn’t show it. Never would he give him the satisfaction.

“Turn over.”

“Eager. Shouldn’t we save it until the honeymoon? More traditional that way.”

“I may follow the human custom of a wedding. But it does not mean that I will abide by all of your traditions. Turn over.”

Bard stared deep into Thranduil’s eyes. By the moment, he was growing with arousal and his eyes were full of darkness. He did as he said. If he couldn’t get his shirt off by himself, he was in no position to fight an elf that had thousands of years of experience.

“I did say you were intelligent.” As a reward for obeying his order, Thranduil was gentler than last time. He groaned with pleasure, whereas Bard groaned with pain as he wasn’t fully healed. He began to pick up the rhythm more, making Bard dig his nails into one of the many cushions in Thranduil’s bed. He pushed inside at a different angle and got both faster and harder. 

Thranduil pushed his head down more into the cushioned, so that he could barely breathe. The cushion drowned out most of Bard’s cries. All he could think of was how much he wanted to push Thranduil away, disregarding the consequence. Though if he did, his family would be put in danger as Thranduil’s anger was unpredictable.

“You want this,” Thranduil hissed. He pushed in further until Bard had tears streaming down his cheeks. Thranduil gripped his wrists tightly, even though Bard wasn’t resisting.  
“Melamin, please,” Bard begged through the cushion, figuring that the Elvish was a term of endearment. “Amin mela lle.” It was one of the few Elven phrases he had known before Thranduil taught him some others. I love you was supposed to always sound more romantic in Elvish, yet the words were full of hate for him.

Thranduil slowed down and began to run his fingers through his hair like he had done before. “Amin hiraetha,” he whispered sincerely and Bard figured it was some sort of apology. “You deserve better.”

After he finished, he said nothing. He applied the cream, gave him more painkiller, helped him get dressed into the robes and left.


End file.
